


Let our hearts crumble

by fictionalkid



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguments, Cannibalism, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Conflict Resolution, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Murder, Murder Husbands, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Relationship Issues, Romance, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will’s empathy backfires, intimacy issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29275398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalkid/pseuds/fictionalkid
Summary: Hannibal loves Will, and Will loves Hannibal. Everything should be simple now. But it isn’t. Is there such a thing as loving someone too much, too strongly, with so much intensity and fervour that both your hearts crumble?---This fic is an exploration of Will and Hannibal’s relationship post season 3, with what I’m hoping is an unique take on the intimacy issues they could be facing. I haven’t seen this idea been written about before, so hopefully it’s going to be something new to you guys too!
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 72
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is an unofficial sequel to my fic [All Greeks Would Die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27815848/chapters/68098261), but can be read on its own. There isn't much overlap between the two, it's more just that these fics exist in the same universe in my mind.
> 
> (in saying that, there are mentions of Hannibal working through his childhood trauma and them going to Castle Lecter together, which is what happened in All Greeks. So if you want to read about that, as well as find out what happened between them falling off a cliff and this moment, go check out the prequel fic!)

One shot of coffee, three quarters of water, one quarter of milk. This is how Will usually likes his morning coffee. But today, he is going to want two shots. Hannibal knows it.

He knows it because he remembers hearing a small sound of discomfort escape from Will’s lips earlier this morning, followed by Will rubbing his temple in his sleep. A headache. Whenever Will wakes up with one, he prefers his coffee stronger; two shots, but with the same amount of milk. Will mentioned this briefly a month or two ago, in an offhand fashion, but Hannibal remembers. 

He always pays attention, always remembers. Not a single detail relating to Will’s needs, wants, or preferences goes unnoticed, no matter how small or trivial. Hannibal has always been naturally perceptive, but when it comes to Will, it’s more deliberate than automatic; he actively enjoys being as attentive and considerate as possible with the man that owns his heart. 

Hannibal doesn’t need to be like that, but he _wants to._

He loves Will. It’s an everlasting, undeniable fact, something that has been a stable constant in Hannibal’s life for years. He was afraid of it at first and deemed it a weakness, trying his hardest to bury it by hurting Will and pushing him away. Despite all that, and contrary to Hannibal’s expectations, Will reciprocated his feelings. It took mutual heartbreak, suffering, sacrifices, spilling of blood, and even Hannibal confronting his childhood trauma, in order for them to come clean about their feelings for each other. But now it’s done, and Hannibal is sure that Will loves him fully and unconditionally. 

Knowing that about Will makes Hannibal bloom on the inside, like a flower unfolding its delicate petals in the wake of spring. It’s a beautiful notion, to have their hearts beating for each other; a sensation so novel and wonderful that Hannibal wants to enjoy it without holding back, to openly express his adoration for Will and be regarded with the same affection in return. 

Maybe it’s his hedonistic nature. He’s always been one to unapologetically indulge in all the pleasures of life, taking everything he can get, and making the most of every moment like it could be his last. Because of this, the three excruciatingly long years of confinement were particularly difficult. Hannibal missed his luxurious lifestyle tremendously, but the hardest part was being away from Will. Now, he makes sure to appreciate his beloved to the fullest. 

Hannibal usually awakens in the early hours of the morning and takes his time to marvel at Will’s sleeping form. His Will, more intelligent than humans, more ethereal than angels, more tempting than the devil himself. Even now, after spending several months with Will, he still gets stuck staring, completely enamoured. They’ve spent every moment together since leaving Castle Lecter in Lithuania and settling in sunny Australia, and still, Hannibal doesn’t grow tired of seeing Will every day. 

“Morning,” Will hums, pulling Hannibal out of his rose-coloured reverie. 

“Good morning, Will. I brought you coffee,” he responds, setting the mug down on Will’s nightstand. 

Will thanks him by placing a soft kiss to his lips. No, Hannibal never grows tired of that either. Will takes a sip and his eyelashes flutter as he sighs in contentment. 

“It’s perfect.”

Of course it is. Hannibal made sure of it.

“I hope it helps with your headache,” he says, a smile dancing across his features. 

Will looks at him and rubs sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “How did you know I have a headache?” 

“I couldn’t help but notice.”

Will pauses. “Did you watch me sleep?” he asks slowly, with a hint of incredulity in his voice.

“Perhaps.” Hannibal’s fond, dreamy smile grows wider. 

“You’re so weird,” Will huffs, averting his eyes.

He lets out a small laugh, a bit too high-pitched, a bit too awkward-sounding to be natural. Hannibal doesn’t mind. He knows that it’s going to take a while for Will to fully get accustomed to the domesticity. It’s new and strange for both of them, but it doesn’t mean that there is anything wrong with it. 

“You know how much I treasure everything beautiful.”

“Is that why you draw me so much?” Will asks, glancing at the desk on the other side of the room, a multitude of pencil sketches spread across it. 

They’re all drawings of Will. Various poses, various angles, various states of dress – or rather, _undress_. Some are simple line art, quick sketches whenever Hannibal’s in the mood to doodle. Others are fully coloured, with details and proper shading; products of the times Hannibal sits down and spends _hours_ etching every inch of Will’s gorgeous physique onto the paper. 

“Yes, Will. You inspire me more than anything else.”

Will rubs the back of his neck, a slight pink tinge spreading across his face. It could be from drinking all that hot coffee, but Hannibal knows better. 

“I’m just a normal guy. Not even that good-looking,” Will objects softly. 

“To me, you are the most enthralling being under the sun.” 

Will gives him a vague hum in response and climbs out of bed, tugging on a T-shirt and a pair of pants. He doesn’t quite know how to react to the constant display of affection Hannibal showers him in, but Hannibal is a patient man.

“Do we have any bread?” Will asks, swiftly changing the topic, “I feel like having toast.”

Hannibal always – _always_ – makes sure that they have Will’s favourite kind of bread, as well as his other favourite foods. But he doesn’t mention that stocking the kitchen is a deliberate act, and lets Will assume that it’s simply a pleasant coincidence. Hannibal decides it’ll be less overwhelming for Will that way. 

“Yes, I believe we have half a loaf,” he says casually. 

Will nods and saunters to the kitchen. 

Hannibal leaves him to do his morning routine. Will sticks to it most days. First, he eats his breakfast while skimming over the latest news on TV and the internet, keeping an eye out for anything that could concern them and their whereabouts. After that, he takes a walk. Hannibal deduces that this must be a habit he formed while living with all his dogs, as they needed to be walked regularly.

When Will returns, he does exercises for his shoulder that was mangled by Dolarhyde. It’s fully healed by now, after almost a year, but Will never bothered with workouts so it never regained its elasticity and range of motion. There was no need for it while he played house with Molly and played tag with Hannibal. But now that their faces are at the top of the FBI's most wanted list, they need to be in the best physical shape they can. 

It’s a humid day, so Will takes off his shirt before doing his exercises. His naked upper body basks in the warm sun, sweat glistening on the smooth skin and attracting Hannibal’s ravenous eyes like a magnet.

Hannibal doesn’t stare, as staring is impolite, but he _looks._

He looks, letting his gaze tastefully linger over Will’s bare chest. He knows Will is well aware of how irresistible Hannibal finds his nude body, and since Will hasn’t indicated that it makes him uncomfortable, Hannibal doesn’t feel guilty for looking. 

He tries to focus on reading his book, he really, truly tries, but he can’t help his eyes glancing up at Will every minute or so. He notices Will rub his shoulder blade and frown. Hannibal tries to keep his hands off Will as much as he can, but he doesn’t hold back when there is a real reason to touch. He stands up and smooths the palms of his hands over Will’s shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. Being a doctor, Hannibal knows exactly how to loosen the knots of tension in someone’s muscles, which is an infinitely better solution than Will trying to massage his own back with an arm awkwardly bent backwards. 

Will’s head rolls to the side and he lets out a satisfied hum. Hannibal is just about to suggest that he can happily offer a full body massage, when his beloved turns around to face him, arms draping around the back of Hannibal’s neck. Will catches his lips into a kiss, then another, then the third. The ones after that melt together, turning into a cascade of two mouths moving against each other, without parting for a long while. 

When they break apart, Hannibal continues nuzzling Will’s neck while their feet carry them towards the nearest couch, as if controlled by one mind. They kiss again as Hannibal sinks into the soft couch cushion, with Will sitting on his lap. His hands spread wide over Will’s lower back, keeping him balanced as the younger man bends down to nibble along Hannibal’s jawline. 

Hannibal cherishes mornings like this, when there are no errands to run and they can spend as long as they want enjoying each other’s touch. There is no rush to get anywhere; he is simply content to take his time exploring Will’s body – as much of it as he’s been allowed to explore so far. 

There are certain stages in the consummation of their relationship that they haven’t reached yet. Of course, Hannibal aches to entwine their naked bodies together, to become conjoined not only spiritually but physically too. He knows that Will wants it just as much, but –

All in due time, Hannibal has to remind himself. 

The air in the room heats up, and not just because of the hot sun outside. Hannibal isn’t exactly sure if the maddening grind of Will’s hips against his is anchoring him into the present moment, or giving him an out-of-body experience of floating in an endorphin-induced heaven. It must be both; such is Will’s otherworldly influence on him. 

Hannibal remembers that he’s still wearing a shirt and is now eager to slip out of it, but Will is two steps ahead, already working the buttons open. His clever, charming boy. A blissful smile spreads across Hannibal’s face, and he goes back to delicately tugging on Will’s bottom lip with his teeth, while letting his hands trace the ridges of Will’s spine. 

It’s good, so good, just like this; nothing less, nothing more. But as much as Hannibal hates admitting it, he is simply a man riddled with the same temptations as the rest of mankind. So, while being with Will like this is good, he can’t help wanting _more_. The insistent rocking of Will’s hips is tantalizing, and Hannibal is dying to touch, to feel, to make Will experience the kind of profound pleasure no lover has given him before.

His own hips thrust up in time with Will’s, desperate to relieve the pressure building up in his slacks. He can’t help it, can’t help chasing the friction, even though he knows that the more he escalates their desire, the harder they both fall from grace. 

It always happens, and today is no exception. 

Will groans, slowly opens his eyes, and peels his hands off Hannibal. He stands up, giving Hannibal one last kiss. It tastes like an apology. 

“I’m going to go take a shower,” he says, voice thick and breathy with unfulfilled need. 

Hannibal nods and smiles, doesn’t let his face show any unacceptable feelings that would ruin the budding intimacy between them. 

Will leaves, the lock in the bathroom door clicking into place behind him. When he showers at a time that isn’t immediately after their kisses turn a little more heated, he doesn’t bother locking the door. Hannibal has noticed. He knows what happens in that shower cubicle, even though the water drowns out the little gasps and moans and washes away all the evidence of Will finishing himself off. 

If that’s how Will wants to do it, Hannibal isn’t going to object. If he doesn’t want to be touched like that, Hannibal will respect it. He is a patient man. It doesn't matter that Will chooses to deny them both the ultimate act of pleasure, especially because he allows Hannibal so many other things. Will allows the idyllic domesticity, the romantic partnership, the kissing and the lingering touches. Hannibal couldn’t be happier. He is finally with the man of his dreams, building a new life together, and it’s enough. It really, truly, is enough.

But Hannibal can’t help but wonder why. 

Why won’t Will let himself be touched? It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy it. Quite the contrary; Hannibal can see his arousal every time they’re on each other, clinging to one another’s bodies with hands and mouths. Hannibal wonders if being with a man is the problem. He never got a chance to ask if Will has felt attraction to men before, and if he asked now, it would feel like he’s doing it with a specific agenda. Hannibal wouldn’t want to guilt Will into it. 

Even if all Will’s past sexual encounters had been with women, it’s evident to Hannibal that Will is attracted to him on a physical level. So, he can’t figure out what the issue is. 

He knows it’s nothing to do with broken trust or any kind of trauma response stemming from the things he did to Will in the past. Will lets Hannibal touch him everywhere else, even the scars that were inflicted by no one other than Hannibal himself. He trusts Hannibal not to hurt him. He isn’t wary about turning his back to Hannibal, or being asleep next to him. Will isn’t scared when Hannibal handles weapons close to him. They even spar regularly, practising their close combat skills on each other, in case they’re ever attacked. Will doesn’t have any reservations about that kind of touch.

So, if it isn’t due to the lack of physical attraction, or to trust issues, then what is it? Hannibal has infinite patience, but also infinite curiosity. 

He is determined to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wouldn’t trade what they have for anything. But at the same time, being loved by Hannibal feels foreign, even uncomfortable at times, because of how profound and obsessive it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back with another chapter. You're going to find out what's stopping Will from going all the way with Hannibal. 
> 
> Things get heated. But not in the way they hoped for...

Will sees Hannibal’s love in everything. It’s evident in the way Hannibal talks to him, always so attentive to detail and respectful of Will’s wishes and preferences. It’s obvious in his utterly besotted gaze, whenever Will catches him staring. It's visible in everything that Hannibal does; from bringing Will coffee in bed in the morning to doing Will’s laundry and cooking his favourite meals.

Will can see it in Hannibal’s hobbies too, such as drawing and playing musical instruments. Hannibal draws him a lot, has been since their conversation all those years ago in Baltimore about Achilles and Patroclus. Maybe he's been drawing Will ever before that, Will wouldn't be surprised. That's just when he became aware of it. And now that they’ve settled in the little house on the east coast of Australia, the man purchased a violin. Hannibal plays it every day, filling the rooms of their home with romantic, serenade-like melodies. The compositions are his own, and Will doesn’t need to ask to know who has inspired them. 

He can deal with being the muse behind Hannibal’s artistic streak, if it was just that alone. He can deal with the constant acts of domestic servitude, if it was just that alone. He can deal with the praise, compliments, and loving affirmations that Hannibal showers him in, if it was just that alone. But it isn’t. It’s all those things at once, and more. A never-ending outpour of intense emotion that Will can see in every corner and every object of the house, in each word Hannibal speaks and each little gesture he does.

Hannibal is open about his love for Will, and that love is omnipresent, worshipful, and overwhelming. 

Will loves him back the same amount of course, and he expresses it in every way he can, with affectionate kisses and touches, and devoted words and actions. He’s been loved before, by Molly and his previous girlfriends, and it always felt nice, like he was cherished and appreciated. It feels like that with Hannibal too, very much so. Will wouldn’t trade what they have for anything. But at the same time, being loved by Hannibal feels foreign, even uncomfortable at times, because of how profound and obsessive it is. 

Will is used to swimming in the rivers of other people’s emotion; the relatively safe and shallow streams, narrow enough that you can cross to the other side of the riverbank with a few vigorous kicks and strokes. But Hannibal is an ocean, an endless expanse of water with no shore in sight. The sea of Hannibal’s love is peaceful, no rip currents or vicious storms, but despite Will being a strong swimmer, he can’t stay afloat among the waves forever. He finds himself exhausted and lost, powerless against the sheer volume of the metaphorical water, and that’s when he feels like he’s starting to drown.

He’d probably be fine if he weren’t cursed with the ability of feeling what people around him feel. His empathy amplifies Hannibal’s already profound emotions even further, and that’s what creates the overpowering and suffocating ocean that Will can’t navigate. It feels like his lungs are on fire, preventing him from breathing properly, and his limbs crushed by the weight of it all. 

And it gets even worse when things get physical. Hannibal’s touch is loaded with so much passion and adoration that it makes every cell of Will’s body scream with oversensitivity, to the point where it hurts. A deep and all-encompassing pain, akin to the one he experienced when he was stabbed or shot. Will knows that it’s all in his head, that a sensation like this can’t kill him, but he feels like he’s dying because he can’t bear the magnitude of the pain.

Of all the obstacles in the world, this shouldn’t be what forces him to step back from Hannibal.

But it is.

It’s a problem, and Will doesn’t know how to fix it. How could he tell Hannibal, a man who hasn’t loved anyone since losing Mischa, to suppress his emotions? He couldn’t do that to Hannibal. Ever since reuniting after the fall and committing to building a future together, Hannibal has been the definition of pure and genuine happiness, beaming brighter than the sun.

Will couldn’t ruin that for him. Not after he already ruined so many things for Hannibal with his lies and failure to accept his true self. Hannibal had given him so many chances to leave everything behind and run away together, but Will had hesitated. If he hadn’t, they could’ve been living like this for years now. No mutually-caused hurt and heartbreak, no carving mental and physical scars into each other. No bloodlust and revenge, no innocent souls dying as collateral damage resulting from their personal vendettas against one another. 

Will feels guilty. Guilty for not being able to give Hannibal what he needs, _give them both what they need._ Why does something innocent and wonderful like love have to feel like an overwhelming typhoon that’s threatening to rip him into pieces? 

Will tries not to think about it too much. Maybe he’s just not used to such expansive displays of affection, and it will get easier over time. Hannibal has taken the leading role in arranging the domestic aspect of their daily life; finding the house and basic furniture, as well as other necessities. So, Will decides to direct his efforts into ensuring their comfort and safety in a different way.

He insists that they stay in their best physical shape, and obtains weapons, in case they need to fight off the authorities, who are without a doubt still looking for them. They are wanted fugitives and killers in hiding, so they need to make the most of the resources they have. When Will suggests that they share their skills and knowledge, Hannibal happily agrees. 

Will teaches him all the tricks he learned while working in the police force; hotwiring cars, bypassing security systems, and the like. He has always been innately apt with technology and machinery, whereas Hannibal’s specialty area is human bodies and minds. Naturally, Hannibal teaches him medical skills. Will already knows basic first-aid such as handling minor wounds, sprains, and dislocated joints. It’s the life-threatening injuries that he doesn’t have much experience or confidence with.

If Will was severely wounded, Hannibal would be able to deliver the necessary medical care, but Will is scared to think what would happen if the roles were reversed. Next time Hannibal might not get as lucky as he did when Dolarhyde’s bullet missed his vital organs. Will is going to need to know what to do if he’s left on his own to save his lover’s life. 

Hannibal is shirtless, on his back on the couch, with Will straddling his thighs. The older man’s hands guide Will’s as they push and prod around Hannibal’s naked stomach, letting him feel the main muscles and organs through the skin and learn their locations. It’s intimate; the position they’re in, the touching, the heat of Hannibal’s bare skin under Will’s hands. 

It’s intimate, but the touch doesn’t overwhelm Will the way it does when they scramble to remove each other’s clothes in between fervent kisses. This is different. Will explores Hannibal’s body with a strictly educational agenda, to learn to assess internal organ damage if he ever needs to. It’s only when they touch with the intent to make love that the volume and intensity of their combined emotions becomes unbearable for Will. 

He gently brushes his fingertips over the bullet scar on Hannibal’s abdomen. “Did you have to tend to this all by yourself?” 

“I was fortunate to have Chiyoh with me. She provided vital assistance under my instruction.” 

Will feels a distant pang of jealousy and hurt upon hearing the words. He should’ve been the one to suture Hannibal’s wound and look after him, not somebody else. But Hannibal didn’t let him, didn’t want Will’s help. He shakes his head, as if to shake the bitter thoughts out of his mind. It’s all in the past, forgotten and forgiven, and he is sure that Hannibal wouldn’t reject him like that again. 

“You’ll have to teach me how. So if something like this happens again – I hope not, but if it does – I can take care of you,” Will hums, gently tracing the shape of Hannibal’s ribs. 

“An abdominal wound of that scale is impossible to simulate realistically without injuring one of our bodies,” Hannibal explains. “We would need a specimen to practice on.”

Medical students practise on real bodies. It makes sense that Will would need to, too. 

“Go get one then,” he replies, keeping his tone casual despite being acutely aware of what he’s suggesting. 

He doesn’t meet Hannibal’s eyes, unsure if he is ready for what he’s going to see in them. Instead, he continues to caress Hannibal’s stomach, smoothing his hand over the warm skin.

They haven’t broached the subject of killing yet. Will guesses it would have to be a long conversation, with potential differences of opinion when it comes to killing for enjoyment versus necessity. It’s not something he wants to get into right now. He doesn’t lift his gaze until the other man changes the subject. 

“It’s 4 o’clock, your favourite show is on,” Hannibal says and reaches for the remote to switch on the TV. 

Will wouldn’t deem it his all-time favourite, but it’s the best entertainment Australian cable channels have to offer. It’s one of those shows about cute and funny pet videos that people film and send in. Will misses his dogs, and because having a pet while on the run from the FBI is highly impractical, he has to settle for watching animals on TV for now. Hannibal seems to enjoy the show too, even though he’s never displayed particular fondness towards pets. 

His arms pull Will down to lie on top of him, head resting on his broad chest. Will likes the position, it’s comfortable and feels like home. He can hear the deep rumble of Hannibal’s laugh vibrating right below his ear as the man chuckles at a clip of a particularly clumsy dog.

***

Hannibal snaps awake when he feels Will shift on top of him. He is so attuned to his partner that he registers the movements of Will’s body even in his sleep.

“Stay,” he mumbles, voice thick from his mid-afternoon nap. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Will assures him. “Ever.”

Hannibal smiles and lifts his head from the couch to press his lips against Will’s. It starts as a small kiss but neither of them wants to break it, so it evolves into something bigger. It’s like a fire that’s been left unattended, turning from a small flame into a hot and uncontrollable blaze that would burn whole cities to the ground if they let it. 

Hannibal’s upper body is already naked, and Will immediately takes advantage of the fact by running his hands along the other man’s flanks. Hannibal’s lips slowly trail from Will’s mouth to his neck, making sure to thoroughly worship everything in their path. The delicate sensation draws a shaky exhale from Will as he tilts his jaw up to expose the column of his throat further. 

Hannibal quickly gets Will’s shirt out of the way so he can continue kissing his way down Will’s body all the way to his navel, and possibly further, if allowed. There is no doubt that his beloved is enjoying the touch, judging by how he arches into the contact and grinds his hips against Hannibal’s. 

“Bedroom?” Hannibal suggests in a husky whisper as he nibbles on Will’s earlobe. 

There isn’t enough room on the couch, and their legs keep sliding off, which is rather inconvenient. Will nods and rises, pulling Hannibal with him.

The silk sheets that Hannibal purchased for the bed are an excellent investment, not only because they are pleasant to sleep in, but also because of how cool they feel against the sweaty skin that’s typical of the more strenuous kind of bedroom-based activities. He is sure Will would appreciate the thoughtfulness behind the sheet material, if they ever actually got to having sex. But Will always breaks it off before they get to the act.

They’re naked on the bed, bodies coiled around each other in a mess of lust and need and want. Hannibal knows it’s going to end soon, and he expects Will to gently push him off any second now. But Will doesn’t. They’ve never made it this far before, never reached the stage of being fully nude, with their erections rubbing together. Hannibal finds himself holding his breath. 

It feels like he’s walking across a minefield; one careless move is enough to make everything go up in flames. He directs all of his attention to Will, watching for even the tiniest hint of discomfort from him, hoping to predict the impending doom even though he can’t do anything to prevent it. 

He’s never brought it up with Will because he doesn’t want it to seem like intimacy – of the lack thereof – is an issue that needs fixing. Hannibal is perfectly happy just being with Will. The physical closeness is a bonus. 

_This_ – this feeling of Will’s bare body on top of him is a privilege he has been granted, not a right. Especially since in the past, in far too many instances, the touch they’ve given each other has been malicious and destructive. 

Now, Will’s touch is anything but that. He’s wild and frantic; hands gripping Hannibal’s shoulders, biceps, back, everywhere he can reach. He kisses Hannibal with sweet urgency, their teeth colliding as he licks into Hannibal’s mouth. Will’s entire body is trembling with what Hannibal hopes is built-up desire, since he’s not stopping and pulling away. 

He nuzzles the side of Will’s neck and inhales deeply, letting the maddening scent of his lover fill him. Will’s arousal is evident; Hannibal can smell the saccharine fragrance of serotonin and a little spicy hint of dopamine on his skin. 

But there’s also something else, sharp and tangy. Cortisol. The hormone released when the body is under severe stress or in pain.

He pauses immediately, looking Will in the eyes with a concerned expression. The man above him is tense all over and breathing rapidly, and had Hannibal been not as observant as he is, he could’ve misinterpreted it as lust and desire. He tries to meet Will’s eyes, but Will swiftly averts his gaze and goes back to kissing Hannibal’s chest. 

“Will,” he says and slides a finger under the younger man’s jaw, gently lifting his head so that they’re facing each other. 

Will’s response is an impatient grunt. “Don’t stop.” 

“No, Will, please look at me,” Hannibal insists softly, “Am I hurting you?” 

“No, you’re not,” Will huffs, as if Hannibal is suggesting something ridiculous, “Fuck – Please, just…” He finishes the sentence by wrapping a fist around Hannibal’s cock and starting to pump it with a determined pace.

And God, it feels better than he’d imagined, better than in his most vivid dreams. He wants to let himself lose control and drown in the sensation of just Will’s hand alone, but he can’t. Not when he is unmistakably smelling stress and strain on Will’s body, and not the good kind that normally accompanies the act of love-making. 

Despite the loud protests of the part of his brain that handles arousal, Hannibal detaches Will’s hand and holds it in his own. 

“ _You’re in pain_ ,” he states plainly. Because it’s not a guess or a question, it’s a fact. 

“It’s okay,” Will gasps hastily, “just keep going.” And if that isn’t resolute enough, he grinds their hips together for friction.

It’s almost convincing when Will acts like that, bold and needy. It’s almost enough to reassure him that Will is indeed fine, but Hannibal isn’t taking any risks. There is absolutely no way in hell he’s going to let this become one of those touches that will leave a scar on Will – albeit mental, not physical this time. 

He sits up, untangling himself from underneath Will’s limbs. 

“No. Not until you tell me what is going on.” 

Will’s face falls visibly, and the passion in his aquamarine eyes turns into disappointment and longing, as if he’s already missing the warmth of Hannibal’s arms embracing him. But the effect on the rest of Will’s body is the complete opposite. His muscles seem to relax instantly, and his breathing slows down. Not by much at first, but Hannibal notices right away. It looks awfully like Will’s nervous system is returning him to the state of calm after narrowly escaping danger. 

After months of nothing but tenderness and love on Hannibal’s part, does Will still perceive him as a danger? 

It hits Hannibal right in the heart, like a stab of something akin to guilt or regret. He instinctively scoots away from Will, so that no parts of them are touching anymore. 

“You’re scared that I’m going to hurt you,” he deduces before Will has a chance to speak. 

It’s better this way. He’d rather say the painful words out loud himself, so that Will doesn’t have to. He opens his mouth to apologise, but Will’s hand darts out to place a finger over his lips.

“No, it’s not like that. I know you are not going to hurt me.” Will’s hand moves to cup Hannibal’s cheek, as if to emphasise his words. “And I’m not afraid of you.” 

Hannibal looks him in the eyes, searching for the hints of uncertainty or insincerity he’s sure he’s going to find. But no, despite how hard Hannibal looks, it isn’t there.

“You make me feel so good. And I love it,” Will adds, “It’s just that I feel too much. This thing I have, pure empathy or whatever you call it, it makes everything feel so intense. To the point that it hurts.”

Hannibal never suspected something like this could be the source of the problem, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. He has an infinite amount of love to give to Will, and Will has an infinite ability to absorb and amplify it, due to this gift of empathy. In addition to that, Hannibal figures it must have something to do with the psychosomatic qualities of the human body. Much like anxiety or worry can make certain people physically sick to the stomach, experiencing strong romantic affection makes Will feel physical pain.

“I see,” he says after a moment. “And it’s more painful when physical intimacy is involved?” 

“It seems like it.” 

Hannibal nods. Hypersensitive nerve endings; the pain threshold lowered by the strain on the body caused by the intense emotional experience. 

“Did you feel like this with your previous lovers too?” he asks, making sure to keep his natural clinical curiosity out of his voice. 

“Yeah. But not to this degree,” Will admits and shrugs the tension off his shoulders, “With them I never felt anything real anyway.” 

Something about the admission produces a warm sensation deep in Hannibal’s chest. Nobody has ever gotten as close to Will as he has, and had such a striking effect on Will’s mind and body. Indeed, nobody will ever know them as intimately as they know each other. 

Hannibal allows himself a small smile. He lifts his palm to place it over Will’s hand that is still lingering near Hannibal’s face, tracing the shape of his cheekbone.

“Thank you for telling me, Will.” He turns his head to kiss the inside of his partner’s wrist. “I have loved you for many years, long before I got to touch you like this. I was perfectly content with it then, and would be in the future.” 

Will meets his eyes, and there is an apology written all over them. Like it’s his fault that they can never get past the stage of undressing. Like it’s something he owes Hannibal, a promise he can’t fulfill. 

It isn’t. It’s _nothing_ like that.

“We don’t have to do this, darling. Please believe me.” 

And Hannibal means it, truly and utterly. Sexual gratification is for mortals, and Hannibal refuses to be defined by such primitive urges. What he values above all is having a soulmate, a kindred spirit, someone who can enter every room of his mind palace and make himself at home. _Someone like Will._

“But I want it,” Will insists, “I want you so bad.” 

Hannibal breathes in. Then out. A little exercise to compose himself. “I know, dear, but it won’t be a good experience if you’re in pa–”

“ _Hannibal_.” 

There is determination in Will’s voice, and all Hannibal can do is pause and look at him. In any other situation he would happily back down and give Will what he wants. His partner’s confident, assertive side is incredibly attractive to him. But this time, he won’t. 

“Do it anyway,” Will commands, “I won’t break.” 

Hannibal shakes his head. “I feel that if we proceed, we are both going to regret this decision.” 

“No we won’t. I know what I want.” Will’s bright and resolute eyes are drilling into him, coaxing him, persuading him. Backing him into the corner inside his own skull. 

“I beg to differ,” Hannibal objects, his voice soft but unyielding. “To me, it would feel like a violation.” 

“A _violation_?!” Will snorts. The look in his eyes changes to disbelief, the kind that feels almost mocking. “So you shoving an ear down my throat, gutting me, and sawing my skull open isn’t a violation?”

And for once, Hannibal finds himself not having a response ready in his mind. 

“You do all those things to me but draw the line at _sex_?” Will fumes, throwing his hands in the air, “God, Hannibal, you are so fucking full of shit.” 

“Will, I – ,” Hannibal tries, but there is no stopping him. 

Will shuts him down with a scathing glare and lunges off the bed like a vicious hurricane, picking up his clothes and storming out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay what do we think of Will's empathy backfiring like this and making it physically painful for him? Does it make sense? Has something like this been explored in other fics?  
> Give me your thoughts in the comments!


End file.
